Chapter 180 Fun Times.

Chapter 180: 180 Fun Times.

"But a welcome one, I’m sure," Arman rumbled, his voice echoing like grinding tectonic plates.

That was highly debatable. The last time I saw him, I had literally poisoned his drink and threatened to bring the structural roof of his underground fighting ring crashing down on his head.

I would be an absolute idiot to assume a mob boss of his caliber didn’t hold a professional grudge.

"Just checking out your current investments?" I asked, gesturing vaguely at the showroom floor.

"Among other things," he said, his faceted eyes sweeping over the luxury vehicles.

"Arman!"

The diamond kingpin grinned wider as Psyren hopped off the matte-black hood of the car.

"Psyren," he greeted warmly, bowing his head slightly. "My dear. It is always a genuine pleasure to see you. How is the professional villain life treating you?"

"Oh, fantastic," she purred. She stepped right past Arman, wrapping her arms securely around my neck and pulling her plush frame flush against my chest armor. "The boss has been so good to me. And I’m learning sooo much!"

"So I’ve noticed," Arman noted, his crystalline eyes twinkling with amusement. "I can currently hardly keep my floor boys focused on their jobs and not glued to their social media feeds. You’ve made quite the digital impression, my dear. Quite the impression indeed. I sincerely doubt there’s a man alive in Metropolis who doesn’t recognize you these days."

His heavy, chiseled head scanned the room, and I followed his gaze.

Now that he explicitly mentioned it, Psyren was getting a hell of a lot of attention from the surrounding crowd. I mean, even more than a gorgeous girl with her exact figure usually gets while standing around scantily clad in ripped fishnets, punk leather, and spikes.

Dozens of suited men and masked mercenaries were stealing blatant, lingering glances at our little group.

Something to definitely file away for corporate strategy.

"Yeahuh," Psyren giggled, nuzzling her face affectionately against my neck. "All thanks to the boss, of course! I’m finally getting the kind of widespread fame I so richly deserve."

Arman chuckled, the sound reminding me of gravel tossing in a cement mixer.

"Indeed. It was a terrible shame to lose you at the Rumble, my dear. But, of course, I would be highly interested in retaining your services for... alternative contract work."

"What kind of contract work?" I asked, immediately shifting my stance, my magnetic fields flaring defensively.

"Why," Arman said, spreading his massive diamond hands before him in a placating gesture, as if to show he wasn’t hiding a shiv to stab me in the back, "nothing harmful to your syndicate, of course.

"But my dear Psyren could clearly move high-end product, if she so desires. And many a manufacturer on this floor would be absolutely ecstatic to have her exclusively model their equipment. A lovely, highly recognizable woman draped over a tactical vehicle will sell exponentially more units than the vehicle alone, wouldn’t it? And I assure you," Arman added with another blinding, refractive smile. "She would be very well compensated indeed."

"Oooh, that sounds like a lot of fun!" Psyren gasped, leaning up on her tiptoes. A distinct shiver raced down my spine as her soft lips brushed right against my ear, her voice dropping into a teasing, husky whisper. "Because I gotta say, bossman, absolutely nothing gets me hotter than playing with heavy, destructive weapons. Really gets me in the mood to play with your... rifle..."

Her black-nailed hand casually brushed down over my groin, and I cleared my throat roughly, shifting my hips back.

I genuinely wasn’t sure if Psyren was doing this just for the fun of flustering me, to make absolutely damn sure everyone in this warehouse knew she was my exclusive territory, or if the idea of modeling high-yield explosives genuinely got her horny. With her, it was usually a chaotic mix of all three.

But Arman was right. It did open up some highly interesting possibilities for syndicate marketing and revenue.

"Well, we might be able to work something out on paper," I said smoothly.

"But you gotta negotiate through the boss first," Psyren added, shooting an amused, heavy-lidded look at Arman over my shoulder. "He’s my manager. He gets the absolute final say."

"I assure you, my dear, no other organizational hierarchy had occurred to me. I can see plainly how incredibly close you both are as an item," Arman said smoothly.

He reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a sleek, matte-black business card, which looked hilariously tiny and out of place in his massive, diamond-plated hand.

"Here. A direct, encrypted line. It would be a terrible shame if we had to communicate our business in more... roundabout ways as before."

"Thanks," I said.

I took the card, casually rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger while subtly passing a localized magnetic pulse through the material.

I couldn’t sense a single microgram of copper or silicon in it—no hidden listening bugs or tracking devices. Not that I was entirely surprised. Arman was an elite professional, but in this business, you never knew.

"I’ll keep it in mind," I said, pocketing it.

"That is all I ask, of course. Please, enjoy your time at the bazaar, Miles. I do look forward to hearing from your office."

The feeling wasn’t exactly mutual.

I could deeply respect Arman’s business acumen. Hell, I did. But that didn’t mean I trusted him for a single second.

I watched him turn around, moving with the heavy, unstoppable ponderousness of a walking mountain as he strolled back into the bustling crowd, his head and broad shoulders towering over everyone else on the floor.

"Great work, boss," Psyren said, finally releasing her death grip on my neck.

"Think so?" I asked, adjusting my collar.

"Oh, fuck yeah!" Psyren giggled, her neon eyes bright. "And did you actually mean it about me advertising stuff?"

I thought about it analytically.

It wouldn’t be like she was doing anything she wasn’t already naturally doing on her social media feeds. And truth be told, a percentage of those modeling contracts would surely be incredibly lucrative on top of her current syndicate gigs.

Evil was undeniably sexy, as every impressionable teenager and edgy college student knew. And Psyren certainly had the aesthetic nailed down to an absolute science.

Corporate black-market dealers would absolutely fork over mountains of cash just for the privilege of her holding their plasma rifles on an Instagram reel.

Not that I was going to let everything fly. I still had some strict syndicate standards, after all.

But having her officially model as a forthright villainous influencer might be a massive revenue stream.

In the mainstream, it was mostly corporatized heroes selling energy drinks and sneakers. Most edgy brands could, at best, get a brooding antihero to peddle their tactical gear.

Straight-up, unabashed supervillains were a lot harder to secure for a variety of PR reasons, and not just because most of them were ugly, unmarketable thugs.

And let’s face the economic reality: male models in this industry were never going to pull the kind of raw demographic cash that women did.

I looked Psyren up and down again, taking in the ripped fishnets, the leather corset, and the confident, predatory grin.

Goddamn, she’d have underground tech agents literally fighting each other to have her appear next to their stuff.

"It’s a really solid idea," I mused aloud. "You certainly have the chops and the following for it."

Psyren literally squealed in delight and bounced up, kissing me hard on the cheek, leaving a faint smudge of black lipstick on my jaw.

"Oooh! I knew you’d be game, boss! We’re going to rake in so much fucking cash!"

"We?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Natch, boss. Like I just told Diamond-Dick, you’re my agent. And my agent always gets his cut. Mmm. In more ways than one," she purred, her long eyelashes fluttering. Deep, glowing pink hearts flared vividly to life in her irises.

I felt the blood immediately rush south at the blatant suggestion.

"Well," I said, my hand dropping down to palm her firm ass. She let out a soft, sharp gasp, instantly melting against me and cooing like a very pleased dove. "It’s pretty easy to be a great manager when I have such incredibly skilled talent on my roster."

"You know it, boss," Psyren whispered.

"Mhm?"

I looked quickly over to my left. Rhea was standing a few feet away, her arms crossed firmly beneath her chest, a massive, highly amused smirk plastered across her face.

"Sounds like we need to be strictly looking for a car with a very, very spacious back seat. You know. For those specific logistical times when you don’t have the time to get somewhere totally private before having some fun," Rhea teased, giving me a wildly exaggerated, suggestive waggle of her eyebrows and tail.

"Not a bad idea at all," Psyren agreed seamlessly, giving my jaw one last lingering kiss before smoothly slipping her arm out of mine.

"Like this one!" Rhea declared, gesturing grandly toward a massive vehicle sitting alone in the next display bay.